The Perfect Gentleman
by Anne Sweets
Summary: In an AU for Margaret and John they each face entirely different hardships, challenges, and opportunities. But will Margaret's crumbling family dissuade John from his original intentions toward her? How can the two of them navigate complex genteel society
1. Watson Manse

_Inspired by Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South and the BBC Miniseries with Richard Armitage and Daniela Denby-Ashe._

 **NOTES: This is an Alternate Universe for the main Characters John Thornton and Margaret Hale. In this Universe Margaret's surname is Wilde.**

 **A/N: I am in need of Betas for this story, I have over 15 Chapters written, but no one has been able to look over them yet. If you are interested, I'd greatly appreciate the feedback!**

* * *

The trek from Alton was a long one. After hours on the train Margaret was loaded into a waiting carriage in a terrible rain. Margaret stared blankly out the coach window and wondered if she preferred the drumming of rain on the carriage, which seemed to be roaring and loud, or the symphony of fears and worries in her mind. She decided the rain was preferable and willed herself to concentrate on its familiar noise.

Margaret remembered Ilchester from her childhood. She had been several times to visit Aunt Winnie at Watson Manse, but never with such a heavy heart. Being sent from her ailing father and childhood home left Margaret with far more worry than hope. Apprehension sat like a stone in her stomach, and her hands were cold, even under the layers of her cloak and shawl. She had no idea what to expect from city living. She has never thought about moving from the country, all her life expecting to find a kind country gentleman and settle not far from her father.

The carriage pace changed and Margaret brought her thoughts back to the world outside her coach window. She could see Watson Manse, set directly against the city street, reaching tall into the sky and flanked by similar houses. It was so different from her father's house in Alton. The manse was high and narrow; a blade of genteel living struck up from the dusty bustle of the city. Wilde house instead was wide and sprawling, cradled by gardens and connected to neighbors by footpaths through shaded forests. Margaret winced at the memory.

"Oh Margaret darling!" Aunt Winnie and cousins Helen and Jude rushed down the steps to meet her. "How was your journey? I'm sure you are quite exhausted!" Aunt Winnie always wore her white-blonde hair in two massive buns at the back of her head. As a child, Margaret imagined that they looked like a pair of beautifully crafted bird's nests. Today her aunt was wearing a delicate silver bird brooch, and the memory of her childhood fancies softened Margaret's mood.

"I'm well thank you Aunt," Margaret smiled while stepping out of the carriage. The welcoming smiles of her aunt and cousins warmed her, and she was filled with determination. She still felt quite hopeless and lost, but she had resolved to find some peace, some hope in her new situation.

Margaret was ushered into the Manse where she met Jude's husband Mr. Carter, and Helen's betrothed Mr. Powell. Jude and Mr. Carter looked like a good match. Jude, Aunt Winnie and Helen were all of bright hair and blue eyes and of shorter stature. Jude was a half-head shorter than Margaret with a soft looking face that was pleasant to look at, if not the subject of renaissance paintings. Her husband was a scant taller than Margaret, well dressed as a gentleman in a sandy coat that brought out the childlike rosy coloring of his cheeks. Margaret thought that the two looked much like a pair of dolls.

Helen and Mr. Powell looked much less appealing together. Mr. Powel was thin and angular in his shape. He appeared to be carved from some thorny branch a long time ago. He had to be twice Helen's age and his face scowled while at rest, giving him an air of utter disdain for everything around him. It was a strange contrast to Helen's plump figure and beaming smile.

"I am quite sorry to hear of your father's…illness Miss Wilde," Mr. Carter smiled warmly as the party took seats in the drawing room of the manse. Aunt Winnie sent the servants to bring a tea tray and all eyes trained on Margaret.

"I – yes, well. Thank you." Margaret managed. She hated the way that polite society discussed her father's condition. It felt deceitful and pretty.

"I am sure you are happy to be quit of all that awful business. And we are truly pleased to have you!" Aunt Winnie smiled. "Aren't we Jude?"

Jude, who had been staring intently at Margaret's riding dress snapped into awareness and answered decisively. "Oh yes, Mother. We are ever so excited to see you cousin! I've already made an appointment with our tailor. You'll need to have a proper dress to meet all of our Ilchester friends!" Her excitement showed quite plainly on her face, and Margaret smiled in return.

"That's very kind of you Jude. I hadn't thought of how different fashions might be here than from the country." Margaret glanced at her apparel. It was clean, crisp, and without wear. However it did look quite dull compared to the lace rimmed silks that her cousins and aunt were sporting.

"Jude will love nothing better than to have you as a doll, Margaret. It is all she has been talking about since we received your letter. 'Oh how we must decorate Margaret so that she will find a husband straight away!' I daresay she has longed for a new victim in her fashion ministrations!" Helen and the others laughed.

Jude, not one to be affronted by her sister's teasing replied simply, "Well, it has been some time since there was an unmatched lady at Watson Manse!" She smiled, lovingly it appeared to Margaret, at her husband. He reached out a hand to her and she gave hers willingly.

The tea tray was brought out and Margaret entertained the expected welcoming questions from her cousins and Aunt. She told them that the train and carriage ride went well, that the room they prepared for her was beautiful; that her mother- was she still alive- would be so happy at their assistance in this time of need.

"You remind me so much of her." Aunt Willie stood and crossed to a side table where a small miniature of two young girls rested in a frame. "My dearest sister." Aunt Willie lifted the portraits and held them for closer inspection, looking occasionally to Margaret and then back to the painting. "You have her eyes, you know. And coloring I think." Margaret was dark in her coloring, with deep brown waves of curls and honey colored eyes. Her complexion was pale but with a natural rosy color that made her look always half blushing. She was average height for a woman, and stood inches over Aunt Winnie.

Margaret met her Aunt's sad eyes with her own. "I'm happy you think so, I miss her very much." For the first time since this ordeal began Margaret felt threatened by tears. She had not wept for her father, or for herself or their circumstances. Yet suddenly she felt that she might spill over with grief for her long-dead mother. Margaret chided herself for her own nonsensical emotions.

Aunt Winnie cleared her throat, dismissing the tender and sorrowful moment. "Well then, enough of all this chatter. I'm sure Margaret would like to visit her room and unpack." She directed her gaze to Margaret, "I've had your trunks sent to your room. We are very pleased to have you, Margaret."


	2. Be Careful

The first two weeks in Ilchester moved by Margaret with a sort of dreamlike quality. She had committed herself to be happy in this new place, and she did try; but the city moved at an uncomfortable pace. Margaret was accustomed to spending her time entertaining friends, strolling in lush gardens, and writing short stories. She had written many stories while at Alton – one was even published in a local ladies journal. Margaret longed for the comfort of home and the purpose she gained from her former hobbies. Now she was spending her time dodging carriages on the streets of town and being thrust into one fashionable dress after another by Jude. She hadn't had a moment to herself since she arrived and although the distraction was welcome at first, suddenly Margaret felt suffocated.

It was the feeling of being stifled that made Margaret venture into the city on her own. She'd left her Aunt with the intention of finding a pleasant place to walk regularly, something to get her out of the manse. She had a vague idea of her direction, and resolved to count the street corners so to find her way home. Margaret was aware that the city was full of socialite gossips, watching the street for new faces, for inappropriate familiarities, for any crumb of gossip. Gossip was often the currency of social circles, a fact that made Margaret increasingly uncomfortable in her new life.

In Alton Margaret had the pleasure of being respected by her peers, which allowed her to speak her mind without being labeled as brutish. Here in Ilchester she struggled with the need to stifle herself, so not to draw attention or drag her Aunt and Cousins into the conversations of gossipmongers.

Ilchester was not so big as London or other grand places, but it was massive compared to Alton. The roads were paved with bricks for the carriages, and the homes were jammed together with sides touching in the living area of town. Margaret planned on making her way to the market sector, where Helen had confided there was a bookshop among other interesting diversions.

Margaret made her way to the bookshop, with the intention of selecting stationary of her own so to write to Father. She could borrow some from Aunt Winnie, of course, but she enjoyed the idea of finding her own treasure to send back to Alton. The day was warm enough, although Helen and Jude had warned that soon it would get dreadfully cold. Margaret thought about what sort of stationary she might buy for Father.

Father. Margaret sighed at the thought. There was nothing she could do for him, and she was certain he didn't _want_ her to do anything. Still, she couldn't help but feel helpless in all of it. Her Aunt pretended that father was ill, in some sort of way that implied he might get better. Margaret knew he would not. In fact, he would likely get a great deal worse.

It had begun in small bits. Father forgot his way home. He lost things that had never moved from their place. These occurrences became worse until Margaret was obliged to hire a companion for Father to act as his memory at all times. That suited for a while, but then Father's countenance had taken a turn. Frustrated by his own failings, confused beyond his wits due to his lack of memory, he had begun to exert violence. It was no longer wise to allow him to be seen in the company of other Gentleman, as he might do something horrific like smash a teacup, or strike a man with his cane. Margaret felt so deeply for her father, and wished that she could comfort him somehow.

It was only a month ago when Margaret had decided it was time for her Father to be left in more capable care. He had waked in the morning with the intense notion that he must get to work for the Parish. Margaret tried to calm him, to remind him that there was no business for him to do, as he was retired.

"Nonsense! How dare you talk to me like I am some old fool!" he bellowed, rushing down the stairs as she rushed up.

"No papa, it is true. You've not been to work at the Parish house for over 10 years." She pleaded gently with him, motioning for him to go back up to his room.

"Impudence! I am not your father you – you filthy urchin! I'm your master! And you can bet you will be fired for this display!" He had pushed Margaret aside with great force, and she lost footing. After tumbling down a step or two, Father's companion Elliot arrived, roused by the racket. He caught Margaret and cleverly addressed Mr. Wilde.

"Ah sir, there you are! I have been looking for you all over, as I've been sent on a matter of urgent business for the Parish house." Elliot motioned up the stairs with a look that implied his "business" best be conducted alone.

Reluctantly Mr. Wilde had acquiesced and let the young man up the stairs. Elliot bent low to Margaret and whispered as he made his way up. "Are you alright Miss? Should I send for the doctor?"

Margaret shook her head and gave Elliot a weak smile. Her body was not damaged. She was, however, heartbroken at the scene that had played out.

That evening she'd written to Aunt Winnie, and arrived at Watson manse two weeks hence. Father was taken to a special gentleman's hospital, with a doctor who was confident that he would happy. Margaret had relished that thought – that Father might be happier there. Wilde House was shut up, too big for Margaret to mind on her own, too expensive to keep in condition. Their family money would keep for a time, and Margaret had written to her Father's financial advisor in hopes of ascertaining more information on what their future held. It was a precarious dance, since Father was, to look at, well and sound. He could squander all of their wealth if he so chose and there was nothing Margaret could do. On the other hand, if she were to make his illness public, she might gain control of their financial well being, but Father could end up in an asylum.

Someone's hand on her arm shook Margaret from her unpleasant memory. In a flurry of skirts she was pulled backwards by two powerful arms, and nearly sent falling to the street.

"What in Heaven-" she began, thoroughly intent on giving this rude assailant a tongue-lashing. Her tirade was halted by the deafening rumble of a stock carriage loaded with tens of heavy wine casks and pulled by six great horses that shook the path in front of her. So deeply lost in her own thoughts, Margaret had almost walked directly in from of the oncoming caravan.

"-Oh my!" Margaret exclaimed, changing her attitude instantly and whirling to thank the kind stranger.

The man behind her was a gentleman. That much was clear, although his clothing was of the city fashion and not familiar in comparison to that of a country gentleman. He was tall, at least a head and a half taller than she, with hair as black as coal. His bright blue eyes were piercing under a dangerous looking scowl, although his face was pleasant to look at – scowl not withstanding.

"You _must_ be more careful Miss-" He nearly shouted.

"Wilde." She finished for him. Trying at once to collect herself from the stranger's grasp and find a way to recover gracefully from her foolishness. "Margaret Wilde. I'm so thankful sir, I was terribly busy in my thoughts and I-"

"You _must_ be careful Miss Wilde." The man cut off her explanation and looked at her sternly, finally releasing his grasp from her arm.

Margaret blushed heavily under his disapproving tone and severe look, washed first in embarrassment and then in defiance. "Yes, Thank you Mr. ?"

"Thornton." He replied, and smiled briefly as if to apologize for his gruff reprimand. He glanced off into the distance over Margaret's shoulder. "Are you alone Miss Wilde?"

"Why, yes – but I assure you Mr. Thornton that I am well. I will be certain not to linger in my mind and pay much more attention to these busy streets." She smiled, attempting to act like less out of place than she felt. In truth, Margaret felt suddenly unequal to the task of finding the book store, much less navigating her way home down a path that she'd taken no notice of until now. Some recess of her mind took note of the probable gossip this incident might foster if she wasn't able to regain her composure and continue on her errand.

With that, Mr. Thornton smiled genuinely. "I do not believe you are from Ilchester Miss Wilde. Am I correct?"

"Whatever gave me away?" Margaret looked up at Mr. Thornton. His smile transformed his features and he looked far warmer than the previous scowl had conveyed. She felt dwarfed looking up at him. His features were sharp and rough, shoulders broad and his face marked by the sun. He was an utter opposite of a country gentleman. His striking eyes sparkled with mirth and the shadow of arrogance as he nodded in a gesture that took in the street around them.

"This street is not a busy one, Miss Wilde." Mr. Thornton answered. "In fact, it is nearly a back alley. I am surprised to see a lady like yourself traveling it alone. Where were you heading?"

Margaret blushed again, this time at her own lack of knowledge and embarrassment. If this were Alton she'd have known every twist and turn blindfolded. As it were, she'd nearly been killed and made a fool of herself in front of gentleman who – she could be certain – was part of the fashionable circle that Jude and Helen so adored. Oh how they would be so ashamed! Their new cousin, come to town and already a joke in the circles of society.

"The bookshop." Margaret replied half-heartedly. She'd come all this way in an attempt to be alone only to discover that she was incapable of doing things without help. The sensation was frustrating, and oh too familiar considering her recent circumstances.

"I am on my way to the Boot and Shoe Dealer which happens to be very near the bookshop. Would you like me to escort you?" His demeanor was still somewhat severe, but Margaret believed that his offer was made in kindness. She weighed the consequences of wandering lost to those of being seen with a strange man on the streets.

Mr. Thornton was certainly not like the kind country gentlemen she was used to. His suit was entirely black which; paired with his hair and that almost ever-present scowl, made him look nearly menacing. His words were well spoken but in a reserved and cool way, almost clipped.

"Yes, Thank you Mr. Thornton." Margaret decided that a lady wandering lost in back alleys was more precarious than taking the help of a well mannered stranger and stepped beside Mr. Thornton prepared to follow.

Mr. Thornton turned to the street and began to walk, sparing no glance back at Margaret. She too kept her eyes in front, lest she be trampled by another carriage cart. _How had she managed to make her way to a back alley?_ She wondered looking about. There were several doors, but none of them marked, clearly the rear entrances to shops. Kegs and crates were being unpacked and hauled in and out of the buildings, and the sound was that of workmen grunting, scraping, rolling products, not that of society chattering and shopping. _How had she not noticed?_

Thinking of workmen, Margaret asked abruptly, "Do you work Mr. Thornton?"

Mr. Thornton hesitated in his step for a fraction before he continued as normal. "I am a Business owner. Does that surprise you Miss Wilde?" He asked, clearly noticing the interest on Margaret's face.

"I – no." She said. Margaret collected her thoughts, not wanting to come off as rude. She was unaccustomed to censoring herself, but did not want to offend her present savior. "I'm from the south country. I'm afraid I have little practice with gentlemen of commerce." She looked straight ahead, hoping that she was appropriate in her wording. The gentlemen in the country dealt mostly in land. They were paid on annuity or by trust and did little more than educate themselves and socialize. Margaret knew that in a bustling city like Ilchester most gentlemen would be merchantmen. These were different in that they worked daily, usually minding some large operation or business which paid for their manner of living. Margaret found it quite fascinating that a man might rise into this sort of social rank, rather than be born to it, as she was familiar. She bit her tongue to prevent from asking further questions.

"I am sure you will grow accustomed to our unsettling nature." Mr. Thornton replied, his scowl returning. "I myself have little experience with country ladies. I do own several fields in the south country, although I've not been personally to visit them. Perhaps that softens your shock?"

"Oh you do?" Margaret was pleased that somehow the conversation had found a topic that she didn't feel absolutely estranged from. "Are your fields anywhere near Alton?" She looked up at Mr. Thornton hoping to judge his reaction and managed at the same instant to catch her boot heel in a broken brick underfoot. Margaret lurched into Mr. Thornton as she lost her balance. He caught her easily, pulling her to her feet.

"You _must_ be careful Miss Wilde!" He scolded, "Are you well?" He asked, looking at her feet.

"Yes, thank you." Margaret resigned. Her blush was furious, but not as fiery as the intense disdain she felt for her own clumsy self. He'd caught her around the waist, a familiar gesture that she'd hoped no one had noticed. "I'm terribly sorry to be such a fool Mr. Thornton. Perhaps I should send someone for my Aunt's carriage and leave you to your business." It was her turn to scowl, this time at the ground beneath her, in hopes of avoiding Mr. Thornton' piercing eyes.

"No need, Miss Wilde." Mr. Thornton motioned to a building a few paces away. "There is the bookshop. "

Margaret looked up and was delighted to see Aunt Winnie's groom Nathan waiting with a carriage by the entrance.

"Oh! And they've sent the carriage! How thoughtful!" Margaret didn't attempt to hide her relief at having a way to get home without troubling Mr. Thornton further. She turned to thank him, "I am in your debt, sir, for all of your assistance this morning. It appears my Aunt has foreseen my impossible attempt and sent a carriage. I'm certain I can make my way, now."

"I'm glad to help Miss Wilde. Enjoy your reading." He smiled briefly and turned to a storefront on the other side of the street.

Margaret made her way into the bookshop with a sense of relief, happy to be safe within the confines of walls stacked with age-old wisdom and determined not to dwell on the morning's mistakes.

* * *

John Thornton stepped across the street to the Boot and Shoe Dealer. He stood in the empty lobby awaiting the clerk and staring out of the front shop window at the carriage Miss Wilde had entered. He knew it as one from Watson Manse. He made a mental note to inquire after Miss Wilde to his sister, she was sure to be privy to all of the latest details from the Manse.

Miss Wilde puzzled him. She looked so woefully out of place in Ilchester's dirty streets, and yet she had ventured out into them alone. He smirked, thinking of Miss Price, his sister's latest match for him. Miss Price wouldn't dare look out the coach window at an alleyway, much less step foot in one. There was something very refreshing about seeing a lady unafraid of the grittier side of the city. _It would suit her better,_ he thought, _if Miss Wilde were more careful._

"G'day Mr. Thornton," The shopkeeper exclaimed while rounding the corner into the lobby.

With that John left any thought of the Misses Wilde and Price.


	3. The Perfect Country Gentleman

_My dear Father,_

 _I am well here in Ilchester. Aunt Winnie, Jude and Helen have all taken great care to see me comfortable while I visit. The city is so much bigger than I remembered, and I have on one occasion become quite lost in the wandering streets. Please don't worry, for I have since taken to shorter walks, and with company. I've procured this lovely paper set from a small shop in the market streets. Oh Father, you would have loved to see the remarkable pigments and canvas for painting. Helen tells me that the ladies in town often take to picturesque painting from books of the countryside. I find it terribly amusing that those accustomed to the city long for the beauty of a countryside that they have little knowledge of. I do miss home, and I do not think a book or a painting would help to ease my homesickness._

 _I hope that all is well for you in the Hotel. Please do write me, or have Elliot send word. I think of you often and you are in my every prayer._

 _Your loving and dutiful daughter,_

 _Margaret_

* * *

Margaret dropped the letter on her desk and sighed. She was uncertain how her father would receive the letter. Perhaps she should write a second note to Elliot asking that he save the letter for a day when Father was doing particularly well? She wished for the hundredth time that she were able to care for her Father properly. As it stood, the Hospital was discreet but Margaret lived in constant fear of her father being committed to an asylum.

"Mania" was the word, whispered behind gloved hands and accompanied by shaking heads and pity. For months she pretended that it wasn't serious, that Father was going through a spell and would recover fully. Mr. Henry, Hospital head of staff, was kind to her but firm in his assertions.

"He is manageable," Mr. Henry had said. "We will give him treatment in the moral way. Hey may improve – God willing. But if he doesn't…" The bulky man paused to clean his glasses on his handkerchief before returning his gaze to Margaret. "If he deteriorates Miss Wilde, we will need to find another place for him. The York Retreat perhaps."

She knew that the "moral treatment" was one of kindness and cleanliness, a recent development in the field of patient care. The hospital served as more of a gentleman's club, hosting those who were too far gone with drink, those who were physically infirm or well in age but with families who wanted to preserve dignity and respect. Father was allowed to leave in Elliot's care, and was closely monitored by Mr. Henry and his staff. She also knew that The York Retreat was a very well suited and pleasant country hospital run by The Society of Friends, and that the expense of it coupled with the shame of senile dementia would ruin them.

To avoid that, Margaret had to pretend that Father was of sound mind, which was mostly true. Although his memory failed he was still brilliant, and that made her all the more concerned. Without a brother or an Uncle or a husband, she had no options for the family financial responsibility. Father was still the head of her family and even from the hospital he could make whatever decisions he wanted. She pinned all of her hopes on dear Elliot, that he might keep father from any serious mischief.

Putting these thoughts aside, Margaret moved to join her cousins and aunt downstairs. Jude had invited two other Ilchester ladies to tea, and it was Margaret's first introduction into society. She paused at the hall mirror to check her hair and made her way into the drawing room.

"Oh Natty, you must be so excited to see new faces after these weeks!" Jude teased. Mrs. Ness, the house servant, was buzzing about the room dusting in preparation for guests. Ilchester, being an industrial town, was far more smoky and dust-laden than the country. It was as if everyone in the cramped little streets was burning a sooty peat fire at all hours of the day. She felt a pang for the sunshine and barley fields of Alton.

"Not at all cousin," she replied. "In truth, I am anxious about meeting new people. While you have dressed me in the latest fashions, I am afraid my country manners are more difficult to conceal." She gestured at the lace on her new gown.

"They will adore you." Aunt Winnie smiled and patted her shoulder while passing toward the hearth where she sat. "Or they won't. In either case it will not be a reflection on yourself." Aunt Winnie scrunched her nose as if she was already angry with the not-yet-met ladies.

There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Ness hurried out to greet the visitors, followed closely by Jude. There was a moment of quiet before the guests bustled in.

"We are so delighted to meet you," said a young woman with mud colored hair in a bright peach colored dress that swished into the room hand extended toward Margaret. "I'm certain we shall be the best of friends. Won't we Edith?" The woman called back over her shoulder as a second woman, tall and with a familiar scowl followed more cautiously with a wooden smile on her face.

"Absolutely Kitty." The second woman surveyed Margaret in a detached manner while her friend clasped Margaret's hand in excessive excitement. "It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Wilde."

"Margaret, this is Miss Kitty Price and Miss Edith Thornton," Jude introduced, smiling behind the pair and raising her eyebrows to Margaret who stood nearly speechless at Kitty's instant abrasive friendship. Helen's round face was sympathetic standing at her sister's elbow.

"Ah- yes, I am truly pleased to meet you both," Margaret replied and moved toward the seats near the hearth where Aunt Winnie stood. "Do please sit down?"

Tea was served while Jude and Helen caught up on the latest gossip with their friends. After these important topics were covered, the group chatted amiably about the Ilchester weather, Margaret's new dresses and the differences from country to city.

"It must be quite shocking to come from a place where so little is done into one that is constantly moving and growing." Edith said. She observed Margaret from behind her teacup. Edith had dark brows that tilted inward at the center, giving her an air of a pious but merciless queen. She was darker than Margaret in coloring with dark eyes that were difficult to read.

"Not to mention from a place so beautiful to one so horribly dark and dirty!" Kitty added.

Kitty countered Edith in almost every way and Margaret wondered how they had become friends. Kitty was freckled with an ashen coloring that wasn't quite brown, but more the color of muddy blonde with a hint of gray in her skin and hair. Margaret thought she looked almost like a ghost, devoid of color but for the flamboyant hue of her gown.

"Oh you must tell me all about the country. I've often begged to visit but Father will not have it. He says that country gentlemen have forgotten how to be men and that only ladies are content to read all day," Kitty continued.

Jude and Helen gasped at Kitty's rudeness, but Edith joined in suit.

"Yes do please tell us Miss Wilde. How do the country gentlemen compare with our city men?" She smirked wickedly as Margaret blushed.

"I've not enough knowledge of either to make any judgment," Margaret replied, aiming for a neutral response. It was clear that Edith was baiting her, but she couldn't figure why. She placed her teacup on the side table and folded her hands in her lap, prepared to defend herself.

"Oh? Did you not meet a gentleman on the street the other day? On your way to the book store?" Edith asked with an air of detached civility.

Margaret suddenly realized. Edith Thornton with her sharp features, dark coloring and scowled brow was obviously Mr. Thornton' relation. Sister, she thought. So he'd told Edith of the foolish woman he'd met in the street and now her fears were realized. Margaret suspected that this smudge on her yet-uncultivated reputation in society would mark her forever as foolish and uncivilized. She was found wandering the back alleys for goodness sake!

A crimson blush crept up Margaret's neck and she was filled with embarrassment. If this contentious woman had already decided that she was foolish, possibly worse, what hope was there of finding friends in Ilchester? Margaret was threatened with sadness for her pride, pity for her cousins and their being saddled with her, and irritated defiance that this strange woman saw fit to judge her upon hearsay from another stranger. As she often did, Margaret chose defiance.

"Why yes, I did. Although I don't remember much of him, being so engrossed as I was on my errand," She replied coolly. "I believe he said his name was Mr. Thornton? Any relation Miss Thornton?"

Edith took the bait.

"Why yes, John is my esteemed brother. He is quite the businessman in town, owning and mastering the Gerrhardt Brewery and Distillery. Among the best example of a true Ilchester gentleman," Edith replied and glanced to Kitty, who was nodding emphatically.

"Ah I should have known." Margaret smiled prettily and glanced at all in the room with a gesture that directed them to look at Edith. "You and your brother have identical scowls! I must confess after meeting him, I was surely convinced that no one in Ilchester was capable of smiling. I shall take it upon myself to pray that you find _some sort of happiness_ Miss Thornton. Your face is so sorely in need of a smile."

Edith's expression fell and was clouded with an unveiled look of disgust for Margaret. Edith opened her mouth to respond but was immediately interrupted by Kitty's squeals of delight.

"Oh Edith my dear friend," Kitty giggled, tears in her eyes, "I'm afraid Miss Wilde has captured you!" She reached a hand to Edith and squeezed it, ignoring the look of astonishment on Edith's face. "How often I have told you to abandon your serious nature and _enjoy_ life!"

Kitty's laughter fizzled to a small clearing of her throat. "And I'm certain we'd all be pleased if Mr. Thornton did the same." She smiled at Margaret with a sly implication that belied her having defused the situation.

"I-," Edith began, floundering. Her face showed her mental calculations. Clearly she couldn't attack both Kitty and Miss Wilde. "Well – yes, I suppose lighthearted diversion would do John good," She finished weakly.

* * *

Margaret was glad to see Miss Thornton and Miss Price leave. Tea had continued with a strained attitude from Edith and an abundantly excited one from Kitty but there had been no further confrontation. Still, Margaret couldn't help the coal of embarrassment and indignation that weighted her stomach. Clearly the helpful Mr. Thornton had told his sister about the ridiculous and helpless bumpkin that she'd been when they first met. Had he mentioned that she, a lady, was wandering about in an alleyway? How might the rest of society view her after that gossip? Moreover, it was obvious that Ilchester residents had no real idea of the countryside at all. How could Kitty compare a country gentleman to a _woman?_

Standing alone in her room, Margaret tried to enjoy the silence around her. Still, the scorn that she suffered sought an outlet. She couldn't argue with Edith within manners. She settled instead for sitting at her writing desk, her mind filled with reasons the countryside was preferable to the city. Not the least of which, she reflected, was the outstanding company of a country gentleman.

Setting her pen to paper she scratched the title of her still forming story.

 _The Perfect Gentleman_


	4. A Master of Kindness

**A/N: I'm enjoying the research and writing for this story, and I can't wait for you all to see what is in store! Reviews/feedback would be appreciated - and I'm always needing more Beta readers!**

* * *

"Nonsense!" John Thornton shouted at his foreman, Michaels, in his office at the Brewery. "There was no need for it Michaels and I will not stand for it!" he huffed, regarding the man with obvious irritation.

"With all respect Master," Michaels replied as he stood in front of Mr. Thornton, his clothes wrinkled, muddy and reeking of sour beer. He held his crumpled cap in his hands with bloody knuckles. "You didn't see 'im! He was outright defiant! You asked me to be the foreman and I've got to keep 'em in line-," Micheals added a belated, "- sir."

John rolled his eyes and walked in deliberate steps behind his desk and sat down slowly. John was a stoic man by all accounts. He often found that the pretend favor displayed in society was beyond him. His face was honest and he did not suffer to affect happiness or affection when he had none. Still, he was not unkind and he held his temper well. Settling into his chair, John regained dominion over his emotions and continued the conversation in what he hoped was a quiet and professional manner.

"Mr. Michaels." John looked up from his desk and waited for Michaels to meet his eye. "Do you know anything of Mr. Hutmacher?" Without waiting for the man to answer he continued, "I do. I met him off the train when he first arrived for work in the brewery two months ago. I would-" he scowled with intensity at Michaels, his blue eyes dark and ominous, "- _humbly suggest_ that you learn more about those workers that I entrust to your supervision Mr. Michaels. For if you had spoken with Mr. Hutmacher _even once_ you would know that the man is nearly deaf."

Michaels' face went blank. He looked down at his hat and twisted it for several seconds before looking back up to meet John's calculated gaze.

"I- I uh- didn't know that. Sir," Michaels admitted, his face flushed with shame.

"I expect not," John replied. He sighed and his scowl lessened. "So you see Mr. Michaels, Mr. Hutmacher was not being defiant. He _did not hear you_. And he certainly didn't deserve your fists as a punishment for that."

Michaels nodded solemnly.

"I know how it is done in other breweries, in other towns. But that is not how I run my establishment. I do not want to hear of you hitting another worker unless it is a matter of dire peril," John continued.

Michaels nodded again. "I'm terrible sorry sir," he offered weakly.

John nodded and waived the man out of the room. Michaels left and John scrubbed his face with his hands. His temper was quite under control now, but it flared when he remembered Hutmacher, split lip and black eye limping across the brewery yard to his boarding room. Thornton knew that this sort of thing was commonplace in other Breweries. Nearly half of his workforce were German immigrants, and some Masters saw fit to beat them into submission rather than learn how to speak to them, or how to earn their respect. John was determined not to be that type of man.

Sighing, he stood, shirking his coat and draping it neatly over his chair. He reached for his ledger and pen. He had work that needed done.

* * *

After several hours of work, the night air was welcome and crisp compared to the stuffy smell of papers and burning oil in his office. John smiled at the pavement, enjoying his short stroll from the brewery to his home. The brewery and distillery was its own section of town. There were several buildings that made up the works of the business, and then two more that served as living quarters and dining hall for his workers. It was custom that the workers receive board as part of their wages, with so many being immigrants. There was a curfew enforced for the workers as well and the brewery grounds were fenced with a large gate along the road that separated it from the rest of the city. The Thornton house stood just outside the gate, built to all the modern standards of society. John was proud of its gleaming and rather ornate gas lamps, the brightly dyed but simple curtains and its handsome exterior. It was a gift he'd made to his father, delivered post mortem.

The Thornton family was not a stranger to tragedy. John's father, Edmond Thornton was a soldier all of his life, struggling to rise in the ranks and gain a better station in society for his wife, son and daughter. Diligently Edmond set money aside for his eventual retirement where he planned to purchase a grand house for the family in the countryside. John's father's plans were dashed when a man on trial for treason managed to smuggle a dagger into his coat and stabbed the guarding soldier, Edmond, while being interrogated.

John, Edith and their mother were given the sum of money that Edmond had put aside and left to fend for themselves. They stayed with family for a few weeks while John – only fourteen at the time – secured the purchase of a brewery with his father's money. It was a risky business, to give up all of the money they had in hopes of earning more. The business began small, with John, his mother, and even young Edith working alongside the hired laborers. John picked up the German language among other business skills and within a year's time the brewery had doubled its orders. After that, John added distilling to the works. On the 5 year anniversary of his father's death John had opened The Thornton House.

The staircase was stone and John's footsteps made a sharp tapping as he climbed them. He opened the door and was greeted by his servant Elsie.

"Evening Mister. I'll be taking a basket to the German man, will I not?" She asked gesturing at a wicker basket with bread cheese and a crock that he assumed had some sort of broth or soup. It was the typical Master's Favor that he paid when a man was injured or ill from the Brewery. John was not surprised that Elsie had already heard of Mr. Hutmacher. The servants often knew gossip long before others; their network of stealthy whispers while passing in the streets or delivering goods was far more effective than the veiled mutterings of genteel drawing rooms.

"Yes please, Elsie," John replied, and made his way to change for dinner.


	5. The Band of Hope

**A/N: A lot of research for this bit. Very interesting stuff, and I hope you enjoy reading about it! Thanks again for the reviews!**

* * *

"I've brought you a basket."

Edith thumped the wicker vessel on John's work desk. He looked up at her with a teasing eye.

"My, Edith. How have you reduced yourself so low as to visit your impossible brother while working at the 'stinking brewery?'" John kept his face solemn but a smile tugged at his lips. He loved his sister, but she often forgot how hard he worked for the things that she enjoyed. Her fashions, her parties, her lavish ornaments and other frivolous purchases were always topics of contention between them. Still, she was fiercely loyal and he had come to appreciate her friendship.

"Hush you or I'll take it right back." She scowled at him, and John thought better of his teasing.

"What has prompted this visit?" John lifted the towel covering the basket to find a selection of tea-cakes, cheeses and meats. It was not lost on John that Edith had chosen his favorite selections. He watched her adjust her skirts and sit in the chair directly across from his desk, wondering what bad news she brought.

"I want to know what is about with the Band of Hope." She pulled a leaflet out of her dress pocket and handed it to John. It was one he'd seen before, but his sister's interest in it set him on edge.

"They believe in abstinence from drink." John answered, knowing that the pamphlet said as much. "Its of no concern to me – unless you are planning on joining their ranks?" He raised an eyebrow at his sister.

Edith pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at John, clearly not pleased with his affected indifference.

"There is going to be a march, John."

This news surprised him. The Band of Hope was a radical movement often populated by church going citizens who believed that alcohol was morally wrong and socially degrading. Off and on he'd had to field questions about how the liquors his distillery manufactured might be causing alcoholic men to become homeless, abusive, or to die prematurely. He answered those concerns the same way each time. He was not responsible for the shortcomings of others. Do men not also kill themselves with knives, guns, and rope? Should all of these be banned in order to protect those weak enough to succumb to them?

His answers had always been enough to steer conversation to more pleasant matters. He'd never, however, had to quiet a rally of the Band of Hope. He suspected that when gathered en masse the voices of the fanatics who dared him to close his business – his livelihood and that of his family – would be harder to speak over. They had even had some success in banning the manufacture and sale of spirits in other cities.

"Where did you hear this?" John held his concern and stilled his expression into one of mild interest.

"A woman on the corner just outside of the house." Edith's voice made clear her discomfort at having such people so close to her home. "They will march from the Presbyterian church to the Brewery."

That was a concern. The thought of a throng of Teetotalists marching through the city streets and assembling in front of his brewery – in front of his _house_ flooded John with indignation and anger.

"When?" he asked, working harder to keep his face calm.

"They are hoping a week Sunday," Edith answered. She was less able to control her emotions and John knew that she was worried.

"I'll take care of it," John replied. He hoped that his sister wouldn't fret. John was a man of responsibility, and this was his problem to solve. Edith's worrying would only cause him guilt.

To her credit, Edith was more than happy to lay this burden with John and wash her hands of it.

"I know you will," She said, visibly relaxed.

Unpleasantness aside, Edith took lunch with John, sharing the basket of goodies she'd brought. John did not let on the anxious need to learn more about the Band of Hope's plans, or his intense desire to be alone with his thoughts. Edith retreated back into lighter topics, most notably Kitty Price and her ever-pleasant disposition.

"Really John, you must consider her. She is so sweet and kind. More importantly she is the only woman I've ever met with enough cheer to survive your constant brooding," Edith prodded.

John shook his head.

"I do not 'brood' Edith. I am simply busy. I have a lot on my mind," He countered, not willing to address the topic of Miss Price.

"You scowl, John. Everyone notices it. Ladies are afraid of you!" She continued, her stubbornness morphing into blunt rudeness. "Miss Wilde said it was the only thing she remembers of your encounter," Edith put in as further evidence.

John's eyebrows shot up. Why would Edith have spoken to Miss Wilde about him? He wondered back over the incident in the alleyway and tried to remember what might have caused Miss Wilde to say such a thing. He was surprised to find himself hurt at the thought that he might have scared her or come off as unkind. What did it matter, he wondered to himself.

"I give no thought to how Miss Wilde might remember me." John met his sister's gaze with a look that allowed no further discussion.

Edith narrowed her eyes at her brother's response, but did not pursue the questions he had raised in her mind.

"Good. Miss Price, on the other hand, thinks very fondly of you."

* * *

The following evening John stood in the collected company of Ilchester's most influential merchants, importers, brewers, and hospitality owners to discuss the Band of Hope and their march. He had discovered that his was not the only target of the march, and that three separate groups were planned to march from the church. One to Gerrhardt Distillery and Brewery, and the other two to a prominent Spirits merchant and a public house.

"We've got to find a way to keep them from marching," Nathaniel, a good friend of John's began the discussion. "They've got public opinion, or at least they think they have, and so they think they're righteous in disrupting the city and our livelihood."

"There is seldom an argument when both sides do not think they are righteous," John put in mildly.

"Well it isn't up to both parties. It's up to the city folk," Trent Witehall cut in.

John nodded. Witehall supplied several of the city's pubs with both beers and liquor. He was a good customer of John's but also a good source of public opinion.

"So what? We put out our own pamphlets?" another man chimed in.

"No, we need to be more organized than that," John replied. "They paint us as the cause behind incivility. They say we are the cause of homelessness and hardship. That we are single handedly condemning this city to Hell." He looked around the room as men nodded. "This is nonsense. It has no basis in fact. If we can simply make our case to the public -!"

"Aye," Nathaniel took up John's meaning. "We will be the perfect example of civility and appropriate conduct."

John smiled at his friend's understanding. "We must find a way to engage the debate on our own terms, in a civil manner."

"'Protect yourself from other people's bad manners by a conspicuous display of your own good ones,'" Trent quoted a popular bit of advice.

Nathaniel nodded in agreement. "And what does that look like, John?"

* * *

Margaret adjusted her bonnet to shield her eyes from the bright sunshine. She had convinced Helen to walk with her and hoped to make a mends for her earlier insensitive prodding.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Helen." Margaret began shakily. Helen had not been unkind, but had been distant for several days. Margaret knew it was her own doing and scolded herself inwardly for being so meddling.

Helen nodded, but didn't speak. She went on.

"I wanted to apologize for the other day. I'm so sorry to have scrutinized you at the dinner table in that way." She turned in her walking to see her cousin's face.

Helen kept her head bowed, looking at the brick path below them.

Margaret took a deep breath and led the way. She had become rather familiar with the city and could now walk comfortably to the bookstore, by the main roads rather than the alleys, the church, the library and several of Jude's friends' homes including Thornton House.

"I believe I've worked out what it is that draws you to Mr. Powel," Margaret continued, hoping that her next words would offer the comfort of a confidant and not the embarrassment of being found out.

Helen still didn't look up but offered a murmur of "Mmm?"

"Its Mathew," Margaret went on, "You liked him – loved him maybe – until he met Jude."

Helen stopped walking and looked up at Margaret, her face full of distress.

"Oh please don't tell Jude! She wouldn't ever do anything to hurt me, and I don't want her to know."

Margaret smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She held out her elbow to Halen who took it.

"Its our secret. But do you honestly want to marry Mr. Powel as consolation?" She pressed.

The two paused to look before crossing an intersection and Margaret smiled inwardly at her near death weeks ago.

"Oh Maggie…" Helen paused for a moment and the two walked in silence. "I don't. But I'm afraid now it is too late. Mr. Powel is a kind man and I do not want to hurt him with my pettiness."

Margaret pressed Helen's hand on her arm. "Oh Helen. Wouldn't he be more injured living with a wife who does not want him?"

Helen was quiet for some distance and the pair walked until they found themselves on the library steps. Margaret hoped she hadn't offended her cousin by implying Helen was doing injury to Mr. Powel. She only wanted Helen to see that marriage to a man for unjust reasons is painful for both parties.

"I think you are right." Helen spoke at last. "Perhaps I should talk to him about it." She looked up at Margaret with bright, kind eyes. "At the very least I do think he and I are friends. Perhaps he will understand."

Margaret nodded and opened her mouth to reply. She was interrupted by a screeching voice nearby and whirled to see what it was.

"March to save our souls!" A man shouted from the top of the library steps, handing out leaflets to anyone who passed him. "Protect our children from the Devil's Drink!" He cried. "Sign the pledge!"

Seeing the ladies looking at him, the man crossed the steps and handed a leaflet to them both.

"There's a march missus, week of Sunday. We are going to put an end to this nasty business." With that, he resumed his original post and began shouting once more.

"What on Earth is the Band of Hope?" Helen asked, reading the leaflet.

"I'm not sure," Margaret replied, flipping the document over in her hands.


End file.
